


Guardians Not Yet Recognized

by brandrewfarr



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Drabble, Gay, M/M, Theyre gay, i guess you could see this as like really love-deprived Guardians but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 12:05:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15533853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brandrewfarr/pseuds/brandrewfarr
Summary: Wrote this at 2 in the morningEdited as of 11/23/18





	Guardians Not Yet Recognized

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this at 2 in the morning 
> 
> Edited as of 11/23/18

When the Red Legion attacked, some Guardians became heroes, some became martyrs, and some became legends. Most of those Guardians who have sacrificed their lives or their way of life go unnoticed in the shining brilliance of the legendary that walk among the streets and whose names pulse and live on every Guardian channel, private or public, fireteam or casual. 

There are two who have given everything in order to live a new life, a pair of Guardians whose roles are small but crucial. Though Titans are the usual class of Guardians to be praised for the valiant efforts as walls, there are the ever watchful eyes of some Hunters. 

 

This pair of Guardians is formally known as ‘the Scarecrows’ but informally known as ‘Jakarta’ and ‘Bezalel’. 

Together, they made it to the Farm in shambles. The Hunter, Jakarta, had a bullet wound that had been festering in his left forearm and a twisted ankle. 

Bezalel, the Titan, had carried the Hunter from the City all the way to the Farm, trusting the Light to guide his way. His wrist was broken from being stepped on by a Legionary, and his legs had been giving out repeatedly. 

Like many of the Farm’s people, they had barely scraped away with their lives. The mood in the Farm was dreary, and while one Guardian, the legendary Hivebane, slayer of Oryx, and disruptor of SIVA got their Light, Jakarta, Bezalel, and other Guardians did not. 

One-by-one, some Guardians went missing, or sustained injuries that could not allow them to walk, or simply died protecting the refugees from an attack. Finally, Jakarta and Bezalel remained with three other Guardians, both healing slowly from their injuries. They could hold a gun though, and that is what mattered. 

Bezalel would stagger and use a single arm to pull himself up to a small cliff overlooking the entire Farm. Here he would set up a sniper rifle and a small ammo box and look out, taking nearly all the the the watches of the day save for night. 

Jakarta would climb up a broad, sweeping tree and sit, watching the people below and across the broad expanse of water. He would also take nearly all the watches. 

The Farm bristled in delight from the two watchful eyes, tired as they may be. 

They told stories too, of how they had been fighting together since Jakarta was rise. 

“He may not say much,” Bezalel proclaimed around a small campfire once, “but he sure is a drama queen.”

The human Hunter had merely crossed his arms and blew a raspberry, sending the entire crowd into a series of laughing. 

“Is it true that you were apart of the fireteam that went into the Vault of Glass?” 

“Yes,” they had both answered at the same time. 

“How strong are you?” a hopeful child once asked Bezalel. The Titan had leaned down and taken off his helmet. He stood proudly and flexed his uninjured arm. 

“I picked up a Cabal Centurion and threw him across the battlefield once, sending him hurtling into two legionaries!” 

“Woah!” A group of children had gathered around the enormous human. “There’s no way! You’re not even that big! Have you ever seen a Centurion? They’re huge!” 

Jakarta had come up behind his partner and put a hand on his shoulder. His green eyes had locked with every single one of the children’s and he had nodded. 

“It is true. He nearly hit me!” 

The Guardians had shared a fond smile together. 

 

Even after getting back the Light, when the Traveler could be seen with a sniper rifle from far away, the Guardians stayed. At this point, it felt wrong to have the two watchful eyes leave. 

They healed tremendously fast, and Bezalel and Jakarta became larger-than-life figures. 

The Titan stood proudly on the cliff face, sniper rifle mag-locked to his back, and scout rifle held firm his hands. He stood almost like a statue for hours on end. 

The Hunter climbed to the tallest tree and balance carefully among the branches, sitting and watching over the water with a tilted helmet once and again. 

The name ‘Scarecrows’ came up after a month on the Farm. There was ever little trouble with any animals or thieves or marauders with two Guardians capable of taking down gods standing watch. 

After hearing this name, Jakarta sat down next to a rowdy bunch of young adults and smiled at them until they went quiet. 

“Scarecrow?” he asked quietly. “You could have come up with a better name.” 

He gave all the men a small smile, knowing full well where the name originated from. 

Bezalel put his hands over his helmet and stomped around, scaring the children and taking part of their games. He once made a small fortress out of cut wood in the forest near the Farm using only his bare hands for the children to use. 

Stories about “Bearzalel, the Mighty” were on the tongues of approving mothers and mystified kids all through the Farm. 

 

“Do you miss it?” Bezalel had suddenly asked his friend when they were alone, scouting out new hunting grounds. 

“The Tower? The weekly death-missions? Dying nearly every day? No, can’t say that I miss it,” Jakarta said bluntly. He shrugged his lean shoulders. “It feels good here, protecting them. Watching them.” 

That was all they needed to say to each other to know that they wanted to stay at the Farm for as long as it lived. 

 

A tent became a small hut in the form of a gift six months into watching the Farm. 

After returning from a mission that was desperately urgent and required the Scarecrow’s ‘tireless gazes’, the two Guardians came back to a town hushed and quiet when they led them to a small hut. 

It was made of wood cut from the surrounding forest. Logs of the trees had been cut to form a sort of cabin complete with a single bed and a small stove. 

There was even a writing desk and a small kitchenette. 

Bezalel threw a party that night, procuring alcohol from the City. 

 

The implications of the Scarecrows’ relationship was clear to most everyone. The way that they communicated to one another with simple head tilts and small waves of hands, or how they spoke fast and quick with faces pressed against one another in passing, or how never once did they complain about sharing a bed. 

If you got them drunk enough, the proximity that they so denied themselves during the day became astronomically smaller. They talked as a pair, finishing each other’s sentences and sometimes exchanging a quick peck on the cheek or a rub on the back of the neck. 

It was a simple life full of simple things, and it was a life that they had both been seeking since they day they had risen.


End file.
